


Paradise Mislaid

by Argyle



Category: Good Omens
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-14
Updated: 2005-10-14
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: All dressed up and nowhere to go. (Nottinghamshire, 1923)





	Paradise Mislaid

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, the humanity.

“Crowley!” the angel whispered. “I thought you said this was to be a fancy dress party.”

“Of course I did.”

“But, by definition, oughtn’t there to be actual _dress_ involved?”

Crowley considered this. “Not necessarily,” he said, after a moment. “And I do see bits and pieces of clothing on some of them.”

“Where?”

“The servants are wearing aprons. _Thankfully_. And that young woman over there has something rather like a stuffed stoat on her head.” He shrugged. “Look, last week was Rome and the week before that was the Wild West, and you didn’t mind wearing a laurel wreath or a holster, did you? This week it’s Eden in Sherwood Forest.”

“And I take it this represents the period after vanity and before common sense?”

“Ha, ha.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Do you even _know_ any of these... people?”

“Sure I know them,” Crowley said. “Of course I know them.”

Aziraphale glanced over Crowley’s shoulder. He could scarcely fathom that these were the same glinting youths who had taken such care to attire themselves as Red Indians and Praetorian Guardsmen, so at ease in their nudity did they presently appear. There were no less than thirty of them, as well as one or two disdainfully flushed veterans; they drank champagne from earthenware goblets and danced to the resounding thrum of a blindfolded brass band beneath the great canopy of oak and elm. Standards flapped from high boughs and bare feet traipsed over the moss-laden ground. It was as though an unpleasant child, which each of the guests once was, had poked a stick into a hive to create a frenzy among the pollen-drunk bees, which the guests might well have been.

Most of them, that is, as Crowley had never been an unpleasant child. Although he was quite without a stitch, the even shading of his tan suited him a treat.

Aziraphale felt offhandedly glad that Crowley had at least had the decency to dissuade him from preparing a proper costume, but through his indifferent explanations of, “It’s one of those parties where you go as yourself, you know,” Aziraphale had somehow supposed that such an event would entail rather more in the way of tweed and rather less in the way of bare pectorals.

In any event, there was a bit of a breeze on, and a shiver sashayed down his spine.

“I will _not_ go out there,” he said with what he hoped was an air of finality.

“Suit yourself.” Crowley began to briskly walk out from behind the tree, but he couldn’t disguise his smile when Aziraphale reached out to stop him. “Well?”

“Mightn’t I just wear my trousers?” Aziraphale held them up before him, and the long, empty legs fluttered invitingly. “See? No one will even notice.”

“Afraid you’ll get cold?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “No.”

“Well?” Crowley asked again.

“I just feel that this has all been rather, er, _sprung_ on me, my dear. I mean I don’t understand why one has to _commit_ to this sort of thing all at once.”

“I say, chaps!” came a sudden voice from behind them. A bespectacled, befreckled young man stood between them, quite obviously befuddled as to how he might place a friendly hand on each of their shoulders and still keep after his half-empty bottle of champagne. He wore a garland of fig leaves about his neck, but little else, and he seemed quite happy. “What’s all this lurking about in the bushes then, eh?”

“We were merely deciding upon an appropriate moment of entry,” Aziraphale said, his voice very slow and distinct.

“Having a good time, then? Well? One thing about parties is that one often meets such regular toppers.” He took a gulp of champagne, coughed violently, and wiped at his mouth with a handkerchief that had been tucked in a thoroughly unimaginable nook of his mid-section. “You two are such _topping_ fellows. I can tell, you see. I can spot a regular topper straight away.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” the young man replied, glancing eagerly between Crowley and Aziraphale. “The police will be here any minute, what!”

“The police?” Aziraphale croaked.

“You’re a dozen drinks behind, pal. I say, but I don’t suppose you’d like to try your luck on the roulette wheel? There’s nothing to it! Binky brought it round from his old uncle’s attic and the foot pedal seems to work even better out here. You know, to stop the ball where you want it to. It makes it all _so_ much easier.”

“Don’t listen to _him_ , darlings.” A woman wearing a lace hankie strode up beside them only to turn away and puff upon her cigarette disinterestedly. “He’s quite daft, you see,” she said, after a pause, and linked her elbow with the young man’s. “Well, do come along, Archie. Your tongue’s hanging out.”

Aziraphale watched them return to their places within the swarm. “ _Ghastly_ ,” he said with great difficulty, and it was only after several moments of silence that he noticed Crowley’s absence.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale scanned the copse once, twice, and the color drained from his face as he saw Crowley by the roulette wheel, laughing merrily with the stocky young man beside him as he no doubt relieved him of the bulk of his inheritance. He looked up to meet Aziraphale’s eye.

“Hi,” Crowley said. “Lord Ceasefire here was just telling me about his family estate at Bexhill-upon-Sea.”

“ _Viscount_ Ceasefire,” the young man amended, with a touch of coldness. “In fact, I’ve not--”

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Aziraphale cut in, and began to draw Crowley away from the table. “I have a bit of business I must relate to my associate.”

“ _Rather_ ,” said Viscount Ceasefire.

When they were out of earshot, Aziraphale said, “Really, my dear. I thought we had settled on Hastings.”


End file.
